


The Songbird That Just Keeps Singing

by orphan_account



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark Past, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Geralt's Past, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Past Torture, Past Violence, Pining, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, monster hunt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23489362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There's a vindictive witch hiding in the forest. Sensing a witcher on her trail, she chooses to lure in his bard. Tit for tat. But instead of killing the bard outright she's going to play with him for a while. Let him know what kind of monster he's truly following around.Or: Jaskier is kidnapped by a witch and forced to live out Geralt's memories from the moment he was abandoned at Kaer Morhen to his infamous butchery at Blaviken.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 68





	The Songbird That Just Keeps Singing

**Author's Note:**

> I've been desperate to write this story, and now I finally have the energy to start tackling the beast. The chapters will probably be of varying length, so it's impossible to say right now how long it'll be.
> 
> I'm probably going to write all of Geralt's memories separately and then add story around them. I'm thinking about 50 memories ought to do it. The background relationships are people in Geralt's memories that he's had brief flings with. They are not present-day relationships.

There was a vindictive witch hiding in the middle of the forest, luring her victims to her with cunning lies wrapped in a sweet voice. Holding out to them a world of peace and prosperity in the palm of her hand, concealing a poison-soaked knife behind her back with the other with which she planned to slit their throats and decorate her walls with their blood.

The village was suffering chronic food shortages; the forest gave them food, tools, and a source of steady income. Unable to step foot inside it, they would die of hunger; their houses would collapse as they could not afford to break apart an animal and sell off the parts for money.

Jaskier watched in satisfaction as the village people fell at Geralt of Rivia’s feet. Perhaps they thought no one would remember how they chased Geralt out of the village three years ago, hurling words as sharp as the rocks that followed them, ‘Butcher of Blaviken!’ but Jaskier remembered.

He remembered and was smug.

It was alright to abuse a witcher until they needed them most, wasn’t it? He knew Geralt would never turn down this contract, though his memory was as long—if not longer—than Jaskier’s. Money, after all, was money. And they were offering quite a lot of it.

“Does anyone have any idea where the witch’s lair is?” Geralt asked over a free tankard of ale in the local inn. “Any of her victims ever come back?”

“None, Master Witcher,” said the alderman. He was a man past fifty, grey-haired and snaggle-toothed, and had yet to formally introduce himself. “They just disappear into the forest, they does. Hear a voice in their mind that tells ‘em to go, an’ they go.”

Geralt’s lips twisted in annoyance.

“Will that make her harder to find?” asked Jaskier, nudging him in the side.

“It could. Her lair could be hidden under a plethora of enchantments, making it look like an ordinary tree, or something to that effect. If nobody’s come back, I’d have to hunt around for it on my own, and a forest can hide a great many things.”

“But you will be able to find it, won’t you?” the alderman asked quickly, desperately, knuckles white around his own tankard from which he had yet to drink. “Five people have disappeared in just this month alone! Seven last month, four the one before that. We won’t have any people left in the village at this rate.”

“I’ll find her,” said Geralt. “But I cannot guarantee it will happen quickly.”

“So we will be needing a room, dear alderman,” Jaskier added sweetly. “Any chance we can get one free of charge like this ale here? Or at least half-off?”

The alderman pulled a face as if he’d sucked on a lemon but was quick to conceal it after shooting Geralt a nervous look. “I—I will have a talk to the owner.” He stood and hurried away.

“Hehe, I love it when they eat their words,” Jaskier cackled.

“You shouldn’t delight in people’s misery, Jaskier.”

“Don’t you talk. You’re practically glowing, dear witcher. You’re loving this just as much as I am, you’re just able to hide it better.”

There was nothing Geralt could say to _that_. And it only made Jaskier grin wider.

The alderman skittered back to the table. “If you’d follow the innkeeper, gentlemen, he’ll show you to your room. Free of charge, of course.”

As Jaskier followed Geralt and the innkeeper up the stairs to what was perhaps the smallest room the inn had to offer, he noted that the innkeeper looked as if he wanted to cast them into the pits of hell and slam the door shut on them rather than give them any service. But times being what they were, he was forced to grin and bear it all and let the ‘monster’ and his bard sleep in one of his beds.

How many more kicks to wounded prides would it take for the village to give up all hope and throw them both out on their asses?

Probably best to wait a day or two before requesting a bath on top of all else.

The bed creaked terribly when Jaskier fell on it. It was just big enough that Geralt could lay beside him, but they would have no space between them. Not that they weren’t accustomed to having to spoon each other on the occasions they had to share a bed, the floor too dirty or too cold for either one of them to comfortably lay down on it.

He hoped with all his might that Geralt would be amendable to doing so again, if he was not traipsing around the forest at all hours of the day and night. Jaskier didn’t suffer under false hope; he would be staying at the inn whilst Geralt worked. Rarely did he ever get to follow Geralt on monster hunts. The only times he saw monsters up close was when they were attacked on the road—which was luckily infrequent.

“I should head out and start searching,” Geralt muttered.

There were signs of stress on him that he wore as well as his armour. Stress from the road, from being awake for way too long playing Jaskier’s protector. Meditation could only do so much; it would never be able to replace the benefits of sleep.

Sitting up, Jaskier seized Geralt’s wrist and pulled him toward the bed. It was a testament to Geralt’s tiredness that he was even able to move him at all.

“Have some sleep first,” said Jaskier, reaching up to undo the clasps of Geralt’s armour with practised ease. By now, he could probably do it all with his eyes shut. “The witch isn’t going anywhere. You’ll need all the rest you can get for when you have to fight her.”

“The villagers—”

“The alderman said nobody reported hearing any voices in their heads. The last person to go missing was three days ago, giving us about five or six days before she gets bored with her latest victim and goes out hunting for another one. There is absolutely time to sleep. Get that armour off, get into bed, and _sleep_.”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Absolutely not. If you thought I was annoying before, see what’ll happen if you ignore me. You won’t remember what peace was like.”

Armour off, Geralt chuckled as he climbed over Jaskier and got under the covers in his smalls, drawing the blankets up to his waist. “Believe me, I’ve already long forgotten. You’re a songbird that just keeps singing.”

“How rude. Don’t act like you don’t enjoy my singing.”

Geralt’s eyes were closed, sleep pulling him under. “Hmm.”

Jaskier smiled down at him fondly. “Sleep, dear witcher. Sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed!


End file.
